


Sixth Sense

by Yunalystelle



Category: Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:22:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24676066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yunalystelle/pseuds/Yunalystelle
Summary: Having a sixth sense can be both a blessing and a curse as Beauty finds out.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	Sixth Sense

**Author's Note:**

  * For [azurefishnets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/azurefishnets/gifts).



> Treat for azurefishnets, written for fyeahghosttrick's Ghost Swap exchange.

The air is alive with lively banter and the continuous thump of glass against metal. In the midst of all this socialising, a man sits alone at the end of the bar. His hat is tipped low, obscuring his eyes. Eyeing his empty glass, he turns his attention to the rows of buttons on the bar. One press sets the mechanical arms in motion. A metal arm places a glass of beer before him. Lifting the glass to his lip, he takes a long sip.

The tap of shoes clacking over the floor catches his attention. He raises his head, watches a woman slide onto the stool next to him. Dressed up in black, with a figure hugging dress and long gloves, she radiates a mysterious aura. Her head turns slightly, dark eyes fixing on him. Those eyes feel like they are penetrating his very soul. A hint of youth still remains in that pointed face of hers.

"You're alone?" A husky voice slips through her painted lips.

He continues to hold her in his gaze, tracing his eyes over her curved and slender body, soaking in all the little details. The way she holds herself like an elegant lady, how the light glances off her red cropped hair, how she taps those thin fingers against the bar as she waits for an answer. "Yeah. I guess so. You?"

"As you can see." She traces her fingers over the buttons, studying the words etched into the metal. "You don't mind if I keep you company, do you?"

"Not at all. Come to think of it, what's a pretty woman like you doing here in the bar? I don't remember ever seeing you here before."

She cocks her head, earrings swinging. Seconds tick by. "I suppose I was looking for company."

The man's gaze lingers on her a little longer and he brings the glass to his lips again, taking another sip. Glass clinks against metal. "Well." Releasing an exhalation of breath, he offers her a smile. "I think you've found it." Thrusting out his hand, he adds. "I'm Mort."

"Bellezza." Taking his hand, they shake. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

The two start up a pleasant conversation. All the while, Mort is enthralled by this enchanting woman who holds herself ever so elegantly. Just a glance of those piercing eyes and he's trapped in the beam of her gaze, soaking in her aura. When she speaks, her voice caresses his ears like the touch of fine silk.

Mort has already gone through two more glasses when the woman heaves a sigh, running her finger around the rim of her empty glass. "It's getting pretty boring sitting here, don't you think?" Tilting her head, she curves her lips in a smile. "I think it's about time we had a change of scenery."

His breath quickens as he finds himself pinned to the spot by her inviting gaze and he shifts his head in a brisk nod. "Yes. Let's go to my place, shall we? I've got a driver, so it's perfectly safe."

"Excellent. Let's go." Bellezza slips off the stool and stands. Mort is momentarily taken aback by how she towers over him. Once he's paid for the drinks, they leave the bar.

Mort's car is parked a short distance away. He opens the back door for her before getting into the back seat on the opposite side. A human-shaped hunk of metal sits in the driver's seat. "Are you ready to leave, sir?" it asks in a mechanical voice.

"Yes, please take me home."

"Very well. Taking you home, sir." The robot starts up the car.

"So you have a robot, do you? That's impressive."

"Yes, it is. It might not look like much but it does the job. I hear they will be coming out with more human looking ones in the future." Mort smiles wryly. "Guess you didn't expect some guy sitting alone in the bar to have a robot driver." 

Bellezza looks out the corner of her eye, her gaze tracing him from head to foot. "Indeed, you do not give off the image of being a rich man."

Mort chuckles. "Yeah, not with my shabby jacket and hat, I'll bet. It's not really sensible to go around wearing your wealth on your sleeve though. You're just asking for trouble."

"Trouble, hm?" The young woman looks out the window, resting her hands in her lap. "Yes, I suppose you have a point. Wouldn't want any complications now, would you?"

"Here we are," says Mort, as the car comes to a stop. He steps out and comes around to open her door. They walk up the path, arms joined, to a grand looking detached house. "Welcome to my abode."

"Impressive. I certainly could never afford to live in a place like this," Bellezza says, gazing up at the house in wonderment. "You really live here all alone?"

"Oh, yes." Mort moves his hand to her shoulder, leaning in slightly. A soft chuckle passes through his lips. "You could always live in a place like this if you married the right man." He fails to notice her face twisting in a grimace. Wrinkling her nose at the rancid stench of alcohol clinging to his breath, Bellezza takes a step sideways.

"Well, are you going to let me in?" Cocking her head, she places a hand on her hip, watching him expectantly. 

"Right, hold on a second, now where are my keys?" Mort fumbles around in his pockets. "I really need to get automatic doors installed one of these days. Ah, yes, here we are." He pulls out his keys and brings one to the lock, only for it to fall from his hand. The keys clatter on the doorstep. "Whoops."

"Here, let me do it," Bellezza snaps, a hint of impatience creeping into her tone. She takes the keys and pushes the one he was attempting to use into the lock. With a twist of the key, she hears a click. "Okay, go on."

"Thanks." Mort lets out a sheepish laugh. "Guess I had more to drink than I thought." He stumbles through the door, feeling his body grow heavier by the moment. Blinking his eyes, he shakes his head. "Gods, just how many glasses did I have?"

"What's the matter?" Walking in front of him, Bellezza leans in and peers at his face, her mouth curving in a lopsided smile. "All that drink going to your head?" She freezes to the spot, brow furrowing. Her lips part slightly. "Hm?"

Mort blinks some more, giving her a quizzical look. "Is something the matter?"

Turning her head, the woman is silent for a moment. She's still frowning as she looks back at him. "Hm, never mind. It's nothing. Anyway, I'm just dying to get to it, aren't you?" With a smile she backs away towards the stairs, lifting her hand and wagging her finger. "Come on."

"Hey, wait, where are you going?" Mort shakes his head, jaw dropping in disbelief as she walks backwards up the stairs, letting out a laugh. "Seriously, are you really playing hard to get in my own home? After I invited you here? What's wrong with you?" He removes his hat and jacket, slinging them onto the end of the stair rail. 

"If you want to get me that easily, you're going to have to work for it," Bellezza taunts, looming over him from the top of the stairs. "Come and get me. I'll be waiting in your room. Let's see, which one is it?"

"Are you kidding me?" Mort can already hear her opening doors. He grips the rail and pulls himself up as fast as he can, urging his leaden legs onward. "Wait up," he groans. "What the hell is the matter with this woman?" At the very top of the stairs, he stops to catch his breath, putting a hand over his heaving chest. Once he's recovered, he stumbles toward his bedroom and leans against the doorframe. "Guess you found it."

"Well, it's the only room that seems to actually be used." Bellezza is sitting on the end of the bed with her legs crossed and arms at her sides. She tilts her head and leans back. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

Mort squeezes his eyes shut against a dizzying rush to the head and staggers forward. "Right, of course. Let us just... wow, this is... did I really have that much to drink?" Sucking in a deep breath, he places his hands on her shoulders and pushes her back onto the mattress. As he bends over her, her face blurs in and out of focus. He turns his head in a brisk shake to clear the dizziness, then leans in, bringing his lips towards hers.

Pain shoots through the side of his neck. Mort stiffens, jerking his head back a fraction. He seeks out her gaze, finding eyes of icy stone looking back at him. Her mouth is curved in a smile that radiates pure malice. She wrenches away her raised arm and he feels the slight tug on his skin. Shifting his gaze, he catches sight of the syringe clasped within her hand. His mouth opens and he finds he cannot summon the words. The only thing that manages to escape his swelling throat is a choked gasp. Putting a hand to his neck, he opens and closes his mouth, struggling to pull in air and failing miserably.

"Like I would let your lips touch mine, you disgusting maggot." Her face twists in a sneer and she pushes him away from her as hard as she can. He stumbles back, wavering in place for a few seconds before swaying sideways. A heavy thump reverberates through the floor from the weight of his crumpling body. "Should have been more careful about picking people up in bars. You never even noticed me slipping something into your glass. Men like you are disgusting. Always thinking about sex. Like I would ever demean myself." He lifts a shaking hand toward her, lips moving up and down. Her figure is now a mere blur in his hazy vision. 

Bellezza, or rather, Beauty, stands there with one hand on her hip, her expression remaining passive even as she watches a man die in front of her. His eyes are bulging and he's thrashing about on the floor, mouth flapping like he's a goldfish. After several more seconds of flailing, the man goes still and his eyes glaze over. "Job done," she declares, her voice cold as ice. 

A shudder passes through her and she wraps her arms around herself, perturbed by the sudden change in temperature. It had felt decently warm when she came in. The whispers she heard before are back, growing even louder in volume. They grow so loud that Beauty ends up clutching at her head and grimacing. She sinks to her knees, grinding her teeth and struggling to block out the voices filling her ears. A dull pain thumps against her temples.

"Ugh," Beauty gasps out. "Not now. Why must you bother me while I'm doing my job?" The voices don't answer, they keep swelling forth in a frantic bubble. Covering her ears does nothing to block out the chaotic cacophony. It's difficult to even make out the words with so many speaking all at once. "Tch." Her teeth are starting to ache from the strain. Relaxing her jaw, she staggers to her feet. Once the job is done, she is supposed to leave this place immediately. She should be walking out of that front door right now. The sheer amount of spiritual energy filling this place has left her completely blindsided. Not in her whole life has she ever heard so many of them at once, and she's been able to sense them for a very long time. 

Ever since she was a little girl, Beauty had known there was something off about her. People would always act puzzled when she asked them if they heard something or questioned the origin of certain voices and sounds. It wasn't uncommon for her to suddenly feel hot or cold despite there being no reason for her to be feeling either extreme. She would also feel random surges of emotions, leading her to express them on the outside and further mystifying others. It had certainly led to some awkward situations.

People didn't believe her no matter how much she tried to tell them and she was warned not to talk about it unless she wanted people to think she was crazy. It seemed that being crazy was bad. With that in mind, Beauty learned to perceive what was normal and what was crazy. It was a struggle trying to fit into society as a normal person. Even a single spirit could catch her off guard and make her mask slip.

Things changed when Beauty learned about the paranormal and discovered there were others like her. She reached out to them and learned the truth, that she actually possessed a gift. It turned out that Beauty was not in fact crazy, just different to most people. While she usually coped well enough, there were times when it got difficult, such as right now.

"What do you want from me?" Beauty hisses, pressing finger and thumb to her forehead. "I've just killed a man. I need to get out of here." She pulls in one long, deep breath after another, willing the voices to leave her. One of them is sobbing hysterically. Tuning into that particular voice, it grows into a piercing wail.

Beauty grunts. Heat, fierce and prickling, rises and simmers in the back of her eyeballs. A veil of moisture sweeps across her eyes. Squeezing her eyes shut, she dashes away the tears that slip free, then jams the heels of her palms against her eyes, waiting for it to pass. A yawning chasm of pain and sadness gapes in her chest. Letting out a soft whimper, she presses her hands to her chest and looks at the body through narrowed eyes. Anger surges through her veins. While she has been subjected to intense emotions from spirits in the past, they have never been on this scale before. The more spirits there are, the greater the suffering.

"Just what the hell did you do, you bastard?" Her voice comes out in a low hiss.

Not that it's her job to even know or care, all Beauty does is carry out her job and that's that. There's nothing personal behind the things she does and she doesn't allow her emotions to affect her work. Ever. She asks no questions. She gets the job done. That is all. 

With every second she spends in this place, Beauty is feeling even worse. She presses a hand to her mouth, swallowing, forcing back the hot bile pouring forth from her churning stomach. There are so many spirits crying out, desperately seeking something, begging her to listen to them but it's hard to hear their words among the clamouring voices. Beauty leaves the room and staggers down the stairs, holding onto the handrail for dear life. When she reaches the hall, she stares at the door that she entered this house through, deliberating over her choices. Of course her employer would not approve of her spending a minute longer than necessary in this place, she knew well enough, but the incessant wails and chatter are wearing at her mind, grinding her down, leaving her exhausted and emotional. An irrational part of her mind is pleading with her to listen, to find out what these spirits want and to silence them once and for all.

"Dammit." Beauty presses a hand to her head. "I don't want to do this. I've got to leave." Moving forward, she feels her body turning into lead. Just putting one leg forward is taking a tremendous amount of effort. With a great sigh, she hangs her head. "Looks like I really don't have a choice, do I." Pulling in a deep breath, she snaps. "Be quiet! You're all getting on my nerves, making such a din!"

A sudden hush falls over the room. Beauty sighs, relaxing and shaking her head in a brisk motion. "Such pesky spirits. I'm almost afraid you might follow me if I leave. Fine, I'll do what you ask."

The whispers come again, fewer of them this time, a chorus of mournful voices issuing directions to her. With their words come a gushing wave of sadness, causing her knees to buckle. Beauty gasps and clenches her teeth against the surge of frothing emotions. Guided by the spirits, she goes through a door and finds herself in what appears to be the living room. A row of bookshelves run along the entirety of one wall. The voices change in tone, becoming an excited chatter urging her on. Her heart pumps, renewed energy surging through her veins. Strutting over to the shelves, Beauty looks around, catching sight of a dust free spot. Extracting the thick tome, she peers into the gap and discovers a switch on the wall. With a press of the switch, a grinding noise fills the room. The walls and floor reverberate. Beauty steps back, watching the wall rotate. It stops halfway and she finds herself looking at a flight of steps leading straight down into a dark abyss.

"Ah. So you're all down there, are you?" Beauty steps closer and inhales. A faint, metallic smell infused with decay fills her sinuses. "Very well. I'll make sure you're found."

In response to her words, the voices all cry out as one and an immense surge of relief courses through the young woman's body, bringing a smile to her lips. 

When she leaves the house, Beauty goes over to the man's car and reaches underneath it. She then starts walking away and reaches into her purse, pulling out a device. Turning round the corner, Beauty presses the button on the device. A great roar thunders across the street. Beauty throws a quick glance round the corner, seeing the orange flames stretching toward the sky as a plume of smoke rises overhead. She walks at a brisk pace over to an idling car and yanks open the door. Sliding into the passenger seat, Beauty looks over to the car's occupant. 

A heavy set man, dressed in a sharp suit, is sitting at the wheel. He turns his head, shades flashing in the glare of the streetlamp, and nods. "All done, ma'am?"

"The job has been carried out."

"I see. I heard an explosion just now."

"He had a robot driver. I had to take care of it."

"Good thinking." The driver glances up at the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of his bald head. "We'd better leave at once. You want to go straight home?"

"Actually, there's something I wish to do first. Take me to a payphone somewhere far from here. I need to make a call."

"Hm?" He raises an eyebrow. Rather than pique his curiosity, he pushes his foot down on the gas pedal and the car peels away. They stop by a payphone and Beauty makes the call, using a voice changer to sound like an old man. Even if she didn't call, police would find the body soon, especially with the destruction of the car, and discover the room in the process since she left the entryway open but she has no idea how the mechanism works. Perhaps it is set to close again after a certain amount of time. Better safe than sorry. The spirits may no longer be bothering her, but Beauty still feels compelled to see their wish through.

Getting back into the car, Beauty pulls away her wig and shakes her head. Waves of blonde hair spill out, cascading around her shoulders. "Take me home."

Once home, Beauty heads into the kitchen and pulls out a bottle of wine from the fridge. She only had the one drink back at the bar. Drinking is still somewhat new to her and she doesn't like to drink too much but tonight she feels she really needs it.

"How was it?" A gentle voice flows over to her, accompanied by the faint whiff of perfume.

Beauty watches the liquid fill the glass, stopping when it's a few inches clear of the rim, then sets the bottle down. "You haven't decided to start resting in peace yet?"

"What kind of greeting is that? You can be so cold to me sometimes."

"Yes, well, you are an intruder in my home." Beauty turns around and rests her back against the counter, taking a sip from her glass. "I'll treat you as I see fit."

"Hey, now, this was my home first." The voice sounds injured. "Can you blame me for not wanting to leave it just yet? I wasn't ready to die!"

"You passed away peacefully of old age in your bed. That's still better than what a lot of people get. Seems to me you're just greedy. Accept your death and move on already."

"No way! I'm sticking around whether you like it or not!"

Beauty sighs, shaking her head. How can an old lady like her be so immature? "You know, I really prefer it if you don't talk." She walks into the living room and settles down on the sofa. "Though I guess I can't very well stop you."

"So, what did you get up to tonight? Did you have to kill someone again? Come on, spill. Pop a bullet in their skull?"

"No gun. It's risky to do that in a residential area. I just injected him."

"Oh." The voice sounds oddly disappointed. "What does it look like when you shoot them? Do their heads explode?"

Beauty wrinkles her nose. "I don't understand your fascination with gore."

"It's exciting. I always liked horror movies, but they were so tame back in my day compared to now. Really makes me feel like I've been missing out. Why couldn't I have been born fifty years sooner?"

"Well, their heads don't explode when you shoot them. It's really no different to what you see in the movies." Beauty sips, frowning. "Anyway, a bullet to the head would have been too quick a death for that piece of shit."

"Oh? This isn't like you."

Beauty tilts her head. "Whatever do you mean?"

"You don't usually sound so... you know, emotional when talking about your targets. Since when do you care what they are like?"

"All I said was that he was a piece of shit. It was a statement, that was all. It's good that he's gone from this earth."

"See? You're approving of his death. Usually, you just go out and do your job and come back without a care in the world, just carrying on with your life everything's normal. I can tell. Something got under your skin."

"Is it that obvious?" Beauty narrows her eyes, her lip curling. It's unthinkable, her job actually affecting her. She knows she mustn't care. She must always be ruthless and carry out the job, no matter what it entails. If even innocents have to die, then so be it, anything goes so long as the job is done in the end.

"Maybe you should just get it off your chest. I'm always willing to listen to you, you know? So, what happened?"

Beauty gazes down at her glass, into the golden depths within, and heaves a sigh. Why not, she supposes, it's not like the ghost will be telling anyone, is it? "Everything went fine, I carried out the job without a hitch. The man invited me home just as I had hoped." Beauty's face contorts in a grimace as she thinks about how she allowed him to put his hands on her and pin her to the bed. At least she didn't permit him to kiss her. She had far too much dignity for that. "Problem is, there were spirits in there."

"Oh? Spirits? Hold on, plural?" A long pause follows. "Oh. Oh, dear."

"Yes." Beauty tilts back her head, gulping down more wine. Her head fuzzes. A delicious warmth spreads through her. "I found a staircase hidden behind a bookshelf. There was a very unpleasant smell from down there."

"Goodness me. So, did you take a look?"

"Of course not, I'm not a gore nut like some people."

"That's not what I meant."

"Still, it was quite shocking." Beauty slowly shakes her head. "To think he had killed so many people and stashed their bodies in his house."

"Well, well, well, I guess you're not such an ice queen after all, Beauty."

Beauty leans back on the sofa, gazing up at the ceiling. "There was a time when I wasn't such an ice queen but that all feels like such a long time ago. It's hard to remember a time when I was actually normal. Well, sixth sense aside."

"And by normal, you mean not a cold blooded killer? How long have you been working in this job of yours anyway?"

"Hm. Two years now."

"Are you ever going to tell me what got you into it?"

Beauty had refused to tell her on the previous occasions she had asked and might have done so this time as well but tonight was hardly a normal night and she found she didn't really care. What did it matter if the spirit knew about her past? "Fine, I'll tell you." A faint sigh slips through her lips. "When I was a child, my parents were murdered right there in our family home."

"Oh my!" The ghost lets out a gasp. "That's awful. Were you there when it happened?"

Beauty nods. "There was a visitor and my father went to answer the door. I was upstairs with my mother. We heard voices and then there was a gunshot. My mother snatched me up and fled into her bedroom where she hid me in the closet. She told me to stay there no matter what happened, not to move or to make a sound The murderer came right upstairs and killed her. I was able to see what happened through the gap in the door, and I saw his face too."

"Oh dear. How awful. Did they catch the man?"

"No. That man left the house right after killing my parents. He never looked for me. Perhaps he didn't realise I was even there. I committed every detail of his face to memory. Before the police came, I looked for my father's gun and buried it somewhere I would be able to find it again. I knew I would need it if I was to get my revenge on that man. After my parents died, I bounced from foster home to foster home. In the meantime, I prepared for revenge. Gathering clues, finding people who could train me, learning how to kill. It was shortly after my parents died that I developed my sixth sense actually."

"Oh, really? So did it come in useful?"

"Not at first, I could only sense their presence, but over time, I became able to talk to spirits and I was able to get some clues about that man thanks to my ability."

"Oh, wow. It's almost like you were gifted with it so you could get revenge on your parents."

"I wonder." Beauty raises her glass, sloshing the liquid in the bowl while staring at it intently. "I might have developed that gift anyway. People like me are just born with it as far as I know. I'm one of the few who just happened to have a good use for it. And so, once I was ready, I sought out that man and I found him two years ago."

"That's around the time you started your job."

"Yes. I lured the man to an alleyway somewhere isolated and I took out my father's gun. He had his back to me when I fired. I pumped him full of bullets. Even when he was down, I shot him again. It felt so wonderful, watching the blood spread out from underneath his body."

"Hm, yes, I think I can understand that. He killed your parents, and while you were just a little one too."

"When I turned around, there was another man with a gun. It turned out he was a hitman and the man I killed had been a target of an organization. He invited me to join them and I've been working for them ever since."

"Wow." The spirit heaves a great sigh. "Now I understand why you are the way you are. You lost your parents at a young age and dedicated your life to avenging them and it set you on this path. You're always so cool and collected about carrying out your job, but something was definitely off about you tonight. Hmm. Is it because your target was a murderer? Like that man who killed your parents?"

"I don't really know." Beauty presses her lips together into a thin line. "It was probably because of all those spirits in that house. There were just so many of them, they were so loud that I couldn't just ignore them, and their emotions were completely overwhelming. I even ended up doing something reckless and I hate that. I'm not allowed to be weak, ever."

"You're not weak, Beauty. You're just human."

"Human?" Beauty scoffs. "Don't kid me. I killed my heart a long time ago." She lifts the glass to her lips, draining it of its contents. "It's just that I've never been near so many spirits all at once. They stirred my long dead heart and forced me to feel such powerful emotions. That can't happen again. I need more training."

"Training?"

"Yes." Beauty gets up to retrieve her laptop and sits back down, lifting the lid. Her fingers start dancing over the keyboard. "I'm going to get in touch with the others who sense the paranormal like me. They can train people and help them to hone their abilities so that they become stronger. Over time, they may even be able to block the spirits out entirely. I didn't think I needed it until now but clearly I do. I will never allow troublesome spirits to bother me anymore."

"Oh. I see." The voice sounds even smaller now. "Does that mean you're going to start blocking me out too?" 

Beauty looks up from the laptop, staring at a patch on the wall through narrow eyes. "Hmm, I suppose I could continue to tolerate you as long as you don't annoy me too much. Spirits can be pests though, just like irritating bugs, and you know how much I hate bugs, don't you?"

"Er, yes. Phew. I would hate it if you blocked me out. Why, if we couldn't talk anymore, this old lady would get ever so lonely. Anyway, I'm sure you secretly like having my company too, right?"

"Silence, Tomla," Beauty snaps, her voice suddenly sharp. "Isn't it time that you went to sleep?" With a soft squeak, the spirit's presence fades away, leaving behind a musky scent that soon fades as well. Shaking her head, Beauty focuses her attention on the screen of her laptop, her expression hardening.


End file.
